Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.

Mark Twain

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Crazy Mama
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Well you're crazy Mama
With your ball and chain
And your sawn off shotgun
Blown out brains, yeah
 
You can scandalize me
Scorn my name
You can steal my money
And that don't mean a doggone thing
 
Cause if you really think you can push it
I'm going to bust your knees with a bullet
Your crazy mama, ah yeah
 
Well your old time religion
Is just a superstition
You going to pay high prices
For your sacrificises
 
Well your blood and thunder
Sure can't faze me none
If your going to keep on coming
I'm gonna take it all head on
 
If you don't believe I'm going to do it
Just wait till you get hit by that bullet
 
Don't think I ain't thought about it
But it sure makes my shackles rise
And cold blood murder
Make me want to draw the line
 
Well your crazy mama
With your ball and chain
Plain psychotic
Plain insane
 
If you don't think I'm gonna do it
Just wait for the thud of the bullet